


like dreaming of angels (and leaving without them)

by apolliades



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Afterlife, Death, Drabble, M/M, Reunions, i have literally no idea how to tag this, i never write in first person what the fuck, it's a bit of an id fic, the death is like at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/pseuds/apolliades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>the way you said "i love you" -- when i am dead.</i> </p><p>Q has been dead for two weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like dreaming of angels (and leaving without them)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Словно мечты об ангелах, оставившие нас](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11261958) by [hirasava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirasava/pseuds/hirasava)



> taken from [this prompt list.](http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you)  
> title from [angels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nW5AF0m9Zw) by the xx.

I’ve been dead for two weeks. You linger after the funeral, after everyone else has gone. My name is carved into the stone and you trace it with the tip of your finger. You’ve never seen it before.

I was going to tell you. I’d just been waiting, for the right way to do it. I’m sorry you find out like this. This isn’t the right way to do it at all.

You say my name out loud. It’s quiet in your mouth. It could be anyone’s name. It’s a stranger’s name, and it means nothing to you.

You follow it with _Q,_ and you follow _Q_ with _I love you._

Why are you saying it now? When I’m not there to hear it, and say it back? Had you been waiting, too? Why did you wait so long?

I wish you hadn’t said it. It sounds so lonely spoken to stone and dirt in cold air when it could have been under covers, in warm gasps, pressed into my skin.

-

I’ve been dead for six months. You’ve visited six times. I don’t mind that you don’t come often. I understand. Time moves strangely, for me, anyway. I don’t notice it too much. It’s all softness and blur, except for the moments made sharp by you.

When you visit you take off your gloves and put your fingers on the stone. It feels like a shiver. Like goosebumps.

You don’t talk much. Sometimes you say you’re sorry. Sometimes you say nothing at all and just stand there, skin on stone.

You don’t say you love me again. Do you regret it? Did you change your mind? Maybe you felt me wishing you hadn’t said it.

I didn’t mean it. I wish you’d say it again.

I forget how your voice sounds when you aren’t here. I forget a lot of things.

-

I’ve been dead for two years. In the past year you’ve visited twice. Eve visits now and then, and even my dad comes, once. I think it’s on my birthday. He’s drunk and he cries. Eve cries, too.

You never cry. Not even once.

It’s alright that you don’t come often. I understand. You have more important things to do than talk to a dead man. You have the world to save.

-

I’ve been dead for five years. You haven’t visited for three. Sometimes I wonder if you’re dead too. Would I be able to tell? Would I feel you here with me?

I don’t suppose I would. It’s very empty where I am.

I wonder if you’ve met someone new. I know I haven’t.

-

I’ve been dead for ten years. I’m forgetting your face.

I remember your eyes are sharp and clear, but I can’t quite remember the colour. Are they blue?

I remember they would wrinkle in the corners when you laughed at me. I’d tease you for being old.

I never thought you’d outlive me, somehow. I always thought it would be the other way around.

I’m sorry that it was this way. You didn’t deserve to watch another lover die.

-

Fifteen years.

We never could have been old together. Not with you being as you are. Not with what we do. What you do, and I did. It’s alright. It’s just a shame we didn’t even get to try.

-

Twenty years. Two hundred would feel the same.

-

Twenty five.

-

Thirty. I can’t remember my name.

-

Thirty five.

My name is a single letter in your mouth. A shiver that feels like breath on skin.

Your eyes are blue, like ice. Your smile makes them wrinkle at the corners and shows your teeth.

Oh, darling. I’ve been waiting so long.

-

“How did it happen?”

“You’ll never guess. I got old.”

-

I lose track of the years. They don't matter anymore.

-

I love you too. I love you too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know .. what to say about this . thanks for reading !


End file.
